


LABORATORY B1 ZERO

by sefirosa_gale



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-06 19:54:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18395264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sefirosa_gale/pseuds/sefirosa_gale
Summary: Having failed the soldier entry exam due to Mako intolerance, Cloud Strife gives up and enrolls in Central Midgar’s famous fashion college.  Competition is fierce but he knows that all he needs to start his own business is one high profile customer from Shinra and the rest of Midgarian society will follow.  Midgar, however, is in turmoil.  Someone is bumping off Shinra’s top scientists and Directors one by one, in increasingly bizarre and resourceful ways.  None of this affects Cloud until he receives an unexpected visit from the Turks who are keen to recruit him to go undercover in Shinra Tower to catch the ruthless and ingenious killer.





	1. The Silver Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All characters and plots, except those invented by me, are the property of Square Enix and I receive no financial gain from this or any other of my works. Just doing it for fun!
> 
> This chapter carries a gore warning

Year 200013

Searing screams rent the sound proofed laboratory. 

‘Watch,’ Hojo commanded slightly irritably, ‘How else will you ever learn anything?’

Standing next to the Professor, the child’s eyes met those of Hojo’s latest ‘subject’. The expression on the terrified man’s face was barely human anymore. Strapped down onto a gurney, lips split from screaming in agony, eyes wild and feral with pain. 

The child forced itself to look down at the man’s bare chest, open now from sternum to navel, entrails exposed in all their moist plumpness with skillful precision. Still functioning. Still undamaged. Hojo was surely a master of his delicate art. The child barely flinched. It didn't do to show Hojo fear, weakness or distaste...ever.

‘See, child,’ Hojo said gently, ‘how perfect everything looks in this specimen...see the stomach here,’ he pointed with a pen. ‘The kidneys, spleen and pancreas...and that is the intestine, isn’t it remarkable! It’s about twenty five feet long, you know...’

‘That’s one hell of a lot of guts,’ muttered the child.

Hojo chuckled at his little protégé.

The man on the table gave one final feeble twitch and suddenly there was stillness. Hojo’s ‘subject’ had passed out. 

The Professor gave a huff of frustration. ‘Stay here,’ he said, ‘and don’t touch anything!’ Stomping off with annoyance, he left the room, leaving the child on its own.

Apart from the unfortunate ‘subject’, the room contained nothing much except several tables with shiny surgical instruments lined up neatly on them in serried ranks, their smooth surfaces reflecting tiny snatches of the child ...silver hair, pale, pinched little face and green eyes, devoid of expression.

Monitors surrounding the ‘subject’ showed the man’s erratic heartbeat and other vital readings. On the other side of the room were tables covered in several computers, whirring and humming in the silence. From experience, the child knew that Hojo would be going to get one of the super-strength coffees he was so fond of to help him make it through the long night. Knowing that would take at least fifteen minutes, the child went over to the nearest blank screen and without another thought, tapped the space bar to be greeted by a demand for a password. They already knew Hojo’s personal log-in code. The child made it their personal business to know all the access codes in the lab, from doors to computers. After all, they had been brought up to question, to observe, to learn and no one bothered to hide much from a seven year old, after all.

With a brief glance at the door, the child quickly typed in ‘Project J’. 

Their reflection stared back; androgynously pale face, shoulder length silver hair and haunted eyes of light jade.

With another quick look over their skinny shoulder, the child looked back at the screen and began to read.


	2. The Turks

Present Day

On the huge Baroque stage of the Loveless Theatre, Central Midgar College’s degree fashion show was in full swing. Every seat was taken and even the balconies and private boxes were overflowing, the music thumping as a constant stream of models strode down the catwalk between the aisle seats. The press, huddled alongside the runway with their photographers, scribbled away madly on pads as dozens of camera flashes made a blinding wall of light.

To the overdressed and trendy audience, it appeared a perfectly synchronized, seamless performance. Backstage, however, was a scene of utter pandemonium. Models rushed around in various stages of undress, yelling for their next change of clothes, garments were flung over every surface and shoes lay discarded randomly, providing a serious trip hazard.

Cloud stood by the side of the stage waiting for his allotted slot. Behind him stood the six, tall girls he’d chosen to model the best designs from his degree collection of Apocalyptic Cyber Chic clothes. His use of leather, metal and straps had become his signature now, including the Nibel wolf head detail on each outfit. Each designer was allotted a mere two minutes to showcase their best work. Two minutes to make an impact on Midgar’s most powerful fashionistas. Two minutes to not screw up. Timing was vital but Cloud had made the girls rehearse repeatedly so that there was no margin for error. Short of one of them falling off the stage, it should all go smoothly.

From where he was standing he couldn’t see the audience but he knew the auditorium was crammed with head designers and buyers from various Midgarian couture houses as well as the leading newspaper and magazine editors from Midgar, Kalm and even Junon. Tonight was a chance for each student to show their best designs to the leading players in the business. Before the night was out, a few very lucky ones would even be approached and offered prestigious design jobs.

Across the mayhem, Mr Clarke, Cloud’s Batik tutor who was also one of the organisers, waved frantically for his attention. ‘Five minutes!’ he mouthed.

Cloud nodded and turned to his models. ‘Remember, no smiling,’ he told them. 

‘We got it, babes, don’t worry,’ nodded Xania, the tallest of them all.

All well over six feet tall in their heels, the girls looked even taller with their hair scooped into matching high ponytails. Four foot extensions had been added so that the ponytails hung straight and thick down their backs. Cloud had personally sprayed their hair with washable metallic silver paint to match their dramatic eye makeup and lipstick.

Tifa came over to stand by his side. ‘Nervous?’ she asked.

‘Bricking it,’ he admitted.

‘Don’t worry, the girls look fantastic,’ she said.

He gave her a grateful smile. ‘All thanks to you.’

Tifa gave his arm a companionable squeeze. She had willingly taken the night off from Seventh Heaven to help him get his models ready, helping them dress, applying their makeup and even plying them with the odd shot of vodka to steady their nerves. 

‘Oh by the way,’ said Tifa. ‘One of Shinra’s directors is in the audience...a Scarlet somebody. She’d be a good one to approach if you want a high profile client. I’ll bet she needs ball gowns all the time...she’s always being photographed in the press going to formal do’s of some kind or other.’

‘I’ve seen her,’ said Cloud. ‘She’s a bit busty for my designs though.’

‘Like you can afford to be fussy, Strife!’ Tifa teased him. ‘After three years working your butt off for this degree you’re about to go and work for a company that makes children’s clothes!’

He grinned. ‘It’s well paid...but point taken.’

The current student’s two minutes were up. The MC’s voice came over the speakers. ‘Next we have a collection by Cloud Strife. Cloud takes his inspiration from apocalyptic cyber chic!’

Mr Clarke gesticulated wildly in his direction. ‘Ok, Cloud! You’re on...go, go GO!’ he yelled.

Cloud’s models didn’t need to be told twice and instantly stepped out into the bright lights. Applause and gasps of awe from the audience immediately greeted their formidable appearance as they strutted boldly down the runway one by one, sassy and unsmiling, their long hair swaying behind them. They had barely reached the end of the runway, turning this way and that to show off all angles of the garments before they had to turn back but they received by far the loudest round of applause as they tumbled backstage shrieking with delight at their success.

Tifa flung her arms around Cloud’s neck. ‘Oh my god! They loved your stuff! I’m so proud of you!’

‘Thanks,’ said Cloud attempting to sound modest but unable to wipe the huge smile off his face. He really hadn’t expected such an amazing reaction from the audience. That alone had made the three years worthwhile. ‘C’mon, we’d better get out of the way.’

They made their way downstairs to the green room. Here, all the students who had shown their collections earlier were gathered with their models, drinking wine and vodka out of paper cups and all talking excitedly at the tops of their voices. Cloud was just pouring Tifa and himself two cups of wine when Mrs Foster, his head tutor, came up to him.

‘Cloud! Brilliant show, by the way. Um, there are some people to see you. They’re waiting for you in dressing room number three.’

‘Who are they?’ he asked.

‘Don’t know,’ said Mrs Foster, ‘they didn’t say. They’re wearing suits.’

Cloud froze. ‘What colour suits?

‘Dark blue? To be honest a bit of makeover on them wouldn’t hurt...they look like hitmen.’

‘That’s because they are,’ muttered Cloud under his breath. Giving Tifa her cup of wine, he took his and went to find dressing room 3. It was halfway down the passage near the stairs. 

As he opened the door he was confronted with a sight he’d genuinely hoped he’d never have to see again. There, standing in the centre of the room was a tall Wutaian man, his long black hair pulled back neatly at the back, a tilak in the centre of his forehead. In his hand was a large manila envelope.

Leaning against the long dressing table, their arms folded against their fronts, were two other Turks; one with bright red hair and the other with no hair at all. Reno and Rude. 

‘Tseng,’ Cloud acknowledged the Director of the Turks, warily. ‘Reno,’ he greeted the red-head and just nodded at Rude. ‘What do you want? I’m trying to make a new life here and you lot come parading in.’

‘Please close the door, Strife,’ said Tseng. ‘We’d like to talk to you...privately.’

Cloud pushed the door shut.

‘Great show,’ Reno piped up. ‘Thought you stuff was cool, yo.’

‘Thanks,’ muttered Cloud.

‘ How d’you get into this fashion stuff anyway?’ asked the young Turk. 

‘My mom was a good seamstress,’ said Cloud. ‘We were poor so she used to make clothes for me and other people. She taught me to use a sewing machine. Sorry, why are you here exactly?’

‘As you may be aware from the news,’ said Tseng, getting straight to the point, ‘some important members of Shinra have been murdered recently in ...unusual circumstances.’

‘Yeah, I read about the guy who was found in the desert who had apparently drowned,’ said Cloud. ‘He was fifty miles from any water and there were no footprints or tyre tracks near him. Intriguing mystery.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Tseng. ‘But that was one of the more pedestrian MO’s.’ He pulled some photographs out of the envelope and handed them to Cloud. There were six in all.

‘Shiva,’ muttered Cloud, flicking through the images, fascinated despite himself.

‘All of these murders would take someone with considerable strength, ingenuity and imagination to carry out,’ said Tseng.

‘For sure,’ agreed Cloud. ‘I don’t see how that affects me though.’ He handed the photographs back.

‘We need your help,’ said Tseng.

‘Help?’ inquired Cloud baffled. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed I’m a fashion designer...or will be in a couple of weeks when college finishes. Unless you want me to sew shrouds for those dead guys, there’s really nothing I can do.’

‘Actually there is,’ said Tseng. ‘Sit...please.’

Cloud pulled the nearest chair out from under the dressing table and sat down.

‘We think whoever is doing these murders has a grudge against Shinra,’ Tseng went on. ‘In fact there is a distinct possibility that it could be someone high up in the company, maybe even very high up.’

‘O-kay,’ said Cloud slowly. ‘Still don’t see where I fit in. I never even made it into SOLDIER.’

‘No but you did try three times and in doing so received some advanced training. I’ve read the reports from your trainers, they were impressive. You only failed to make the grade because of Mako intolerance.’

Cloud dropped his gaze and nodded. The disappointment of not making it into SOLDIER still hurt too much to think about. The worst of it was, Tseng was right; his grades had been good. To fail just because he was allergic to Mako had been a devastating blow.

‘Let me get to the point,’ said Tseng, briskly. ‘The reason we’ve come to you is that we need someone to infiltrate Shinra at the highest level, earn the trust of our chief suspects and report back to us with anything you can find out.’

Cloud looked up at the Wutaian. ‘I don’t understand. Why can’t the Turks do that? I mean, isn’t that what you do, spy on people?’

Tseng considered him in that inscrutable way he had. ‘Let me explain. Rufus Shinra is planning on having the SOLDIER uniforms completely re-designed. He’s had complaints about their practicality and comfort for years but now he thinks, with the company’s world wide success and influence, that a complete overhaul is necessary. A new image, if you like.’

‘You want me to design new SOLDIER uniforms?’ said Cloud. 

‘You’ll need to ‘apply’ for the job first, of course,’ said the Turk. ‘Rufus has already approached a couple of designers to see what they can come up with but the problem is that they were never in the military themselves so that have no idea what’s practical to wear and what isn’t. All you need to do is beat off the competition and worm your way in, so to speak, so that it all looks perfectly natural and that way you can gain their trust.’

‘There’s one serious fault with that plan,’ said Cloud. ‘They’ll recognise me.’

‘It was three years ago,’ Tseng pointed out. ‘But yes, it’s possible they will but they had respect for your tenacity at the time so the chances are they’ll trust you more because of it. Also, as an ex infantryman and hopeful SOLDIER candidate you have first-hand knowledge of the uniforms and how they could be improved. It’s you’re Unique Selling Point.’

Cloud just stared at him then burst out laughing. ‘This is the most ludicrous plan I’ve ever heard.’

‘I don’t see why,’ said Tseng unmoved. ‘It’s a job like any other. If you get it, you have the kudos of working for Shinra and you will be paid very well.’

‘I’m about to start a job that pays very well,’ Cloud pointed out.

‘Ah, yes...designing little girls’ dresses, isn’t it?’ Tseng raised an eyebrow.

Cloud bristled. ‘Even if I do accept this ‘mission’ of yours, I’m getting the distinct impression that it could be really dangerous. I mean, if your killer finds out what I’m up to, I could wind up dead too! I need more incentive than just money.’

‘Understandable,’ said Tseng. ‘Then here it is; five of those dead men were respected Shinra scientists. They were working on a way of administering Mako without the side effects. Currently, just under a third of all SOLDIER candidates fail because they are Mako intolerant, yourself included. If more scientists die, the project could die with them.’ The Turk paused to let that sink in. ‘What would you give to get into SOLDIER once and for all, Cloud Strife?’

Cloud just stared at him. Get into SOLDIER. It had been his dream for longer than he could remember and Tseng knew it too, damn him.

The Turk must have sensed him wavering because he said, ‘Zack Fair knows about the plan. He will be your contact as well as your cover and help you in any way he can. We’re setting up a meeting for you both in the next few days. I believe you used to be friends.’

‘I haven’t seen Zack for over a year,’ said Cloud. Why had he and the dark haired Second drifted apart anyway? He couldn’t remember but it was true, they had been good friends once, at least as good friends as a SOLDIER Second and an infantryman could be.

‘What about my new job?’ asked Cloud. ‘They’re expecting me to start in a fortnight. If I fail on this mission, I’ll have nowhere to go.’

‘Leave that with me, I’ll get them to keep it open for you,’ Tseng assured him. 

Cloud sighed heavily. ‘Okay, I’ll do it.’

‘Good,’ said Tseng. ‘It’s probably not necessary for me to say this but tell no one about this and trust no one, not even your girlfriend.’

‘Girlfriend?’ questioned Cloud.

‘Tifa Lockheart,’ said Tseng. ‘The brunette from 7th Heaven.’

Cloud was surprised that he knew about Tifa but then he guessed that Turks made it their business to know everything. ‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ he said.

‘We know that, yo,’ sneered Reno, rolling his eyes. ‘It was a figure of speech. Just don’t tell her anything.’

Cloud didn’t care for his tone. He wondered what else the Turks knew about his private life; everything probably. He wondered if they had even bugged his room at 7th Heaven. The thought made him smile to himself. That would have made Gaia’s most boring surveillance job for sure. 

‘I won’t breathe a word,’ he assured them. 

Tseng rewarded him with a brief smile and was about to leave, followed by Reno and Rude when he stopped suddenly and turned around. ‘Oh, there’s just one other thing; one of our suspects Gianni Corneo.’

‘Corneo? As in the gangster?’ asked Cloud.

‘His son,’ said Tseng. ‘Gianni Corneo runs a nightclub called Loveless Too but his father Don Corneo owns the casino upstairs. Seems that some of Shinra’s scientists have an over-fondness of the Blackjack tables. There’s a chance that some of them might owe Corneo a lot of money. It’s just a theory but I want to discount it. To that end, I’ve have managed to get you a part time evening job there.’

‘Loveless Too is a strip club.’ Cloud frowned.

‘Yes,’ confirmed Tseng. ‘It employs both male and female dancers.’

Understanding spread itself across Cloud’s face. ‘No.’ He said emphatically. 

‘It fits your cover,’ said Tseng. ‘It makes sense that you would have a part-time job, as a struggling student trying to break into the fashion business.’

‘Oh, come on! Seriously?’ said Cloud exasperated. He glared over at Reno. ‘What are you grinning at?’ 

‘I was just wonderin’ what to do on my weeknights off, yo,’ said the young Turk, smiling at him infuriatingly. ‘Now I know.’

Cloud gave him the filthiest glare look he could muster. ‘Tseng,’ he said as the Wutaian made his way to the door once more. ‘You haven’t told me who the other suspects are.’

‘Didn’t I?’ said Tseng. ‘How very remiss of me. They’re names you will no doubt recognise though...Commander Genesis Rhapsodos, Commander Angeal Hewley...and General Sephiroth.’ He gave him the briefest smile. ‘ I’ll be in touch.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will work on this story as soon as I have finished Sacrifice at World’s End. Thanks for your patience 😊


End file.
